Literary Vegan

Gold trickles down my hands, dirt and ash, sparks at the lifelines - stars on storm lines. Lightening explodes along my bones in call or answer I don't know - my skin a cloak to crackling blood - flames adding up the questions I didn't ask.  LJ Ireton, 2024

I hesitated - unwashed, in sleep shorts unpresentable to humankind. But it is not with humankind I wanted to be; I needed earth-grown memory under the soles of my feet, creatures appearing. Like Mary Oliver said: it is impossible to not want the wild - so I went out dirty to the blackberry bush clearing with dandelions: solid and ghost, dried lavender, ivy in the shadows I imagine part of the Trinity as a butterfly cresting a little mound blessing the things I found with my toes. Why do people pave over their gardens with stone? I leave the meadow with the shape of me welcomed and folded into the uncut grass; horizontal in the daylight, it was sparkling.  LJ Ireton, 2024

My spirit was swung low like a string hammock so I lay with it,  sunken under the hottest star to meld or fuse what it could.  I opened my eyes  to the sure, steady mind of a Red Kite, cutting through  finger-smudged clouds and all uncertainty - an ever-winning coin.  Under the relentless energy of the Sun And the set red bend of bone and feather, one strand pulled taut, alert again. I thought of poetry; the beautiful things forever flying fierce: star stripes, bronze birds, truth - all these strong lines  in the sky  are under my blood; my tired self is still singing.  LJ Ireton, 2024

You brought out my coat -  vocabulary in your hands; threw it around my shoulders, shivering under the lamppost. My relief was amber on your skin, my nose under your jaw this wind-scraped charcoal evening. Your love was spoken in silent black fabric: one arm, then the other.  LJ Ireton, 2024

I am a prey creature; feeling panic indoors, loud people are lit up warm  reciting script everyone knows - I don't want to talk. Outside, the streetlights are the same white as lightening - they reveal those trotting low in the shadows  as they cross under - hello, stark scavenger . Burnt orange, singed tips we meet like this: black night interval flash after the music. The fox stops  in his unasked for spotlight as I am revealed  on my side of the street. He is curiosity, seeing me, nose up and undeniably searching with gold eyes the soft side of wild; all questions are silent, so are the answers. This time I am dauntless, eager for conversation. LJ Ireton, 2024.

Autumn threatens; a wisp of oracle air curls through the window slat, warning my cheek of the dry, crisp, falling future. The cats inch closer to me, press deeper into the sheets - the centre of warmth has shifted.  LJ Ireton, 2024

I read other poets - I am devoted  to how the world sounds in words careful, chosen and yet seem to flow out  of a person. LJ Ireton, 2024

The falling sun and an unformed poem  were hungry for my attention. I stood in-between them, on a balcony both could reach and with infinite alchemy  fed them to each other.  LJ Ireton, 2024

The falling sun and an unformed poem  were hungry for my attention. I stood in-between them, on a balcony and piece by piece  fed them to each other.  LJ Ireton, 2024